


you're a disease (what i deserve)

by sandpapersnowman



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, i dont know how to tag for elias desperately wants jon to also be nasty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 17:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20100745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: "What iswrongwith you?" Jon spits.He doesn't mean for the influence to thread into the question, slip between his teeth for him to gag on as it pushes out, but he's still getting used to it, and, well...Elias makes another stifled noise.





	you're a disease (what i deserve)

**Author's Note:**

> title from unlike pluto's Ethel
> 
> i actually started this fic a While ago and just! never rounded it up! but here it is now!

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Jon spits.

He doesn't mean for the influence to thread into the question, slip between his teeth for him to gag on as it pushes out, but he's still getting used to it, and, well...

Elias makes another stifled noise.

"You wouldn't understand," he shudders. "It wouldn't be the same for the _Archivist_."

"Of course it wouldn't," Jon sneers, rolling his eyes. "Am I too lowly to feel the _influence_ as you do? Or am I supposed to be above it all? What exactly am I supposed to be _like_, hm? As the _Archivist_ himself?"

It's all rhetoricals and sarcasm, but Elias twitches with each question. By the time Jon's speaking at full volume, Elias has gone completely red and isn't even _trying_ to hide the bulge in his pants. 

"Jon —" 

"— You are _sick_," Jon cuts off. He steps forward in anger, grabbing Elias by his tie and yanking him to look Jon in the eye. "Do you actually have any stake in any of this? Or are you only here to get off on how much more you know than everyone else?"

Elias's mouth hangs open on an impossible-to-say plea, his breathing too choked and irregular to let him form words.

"Aren't you ashamed?" Jon asks, and still, despite how much he doesn't want to _feed_ Elias like this, he can't pull the compulsion out of his words. "Don't you have _morals_? People are in danger, and you're — you're _what_, sitting at your desk, drinking tea? Having a sneaky wank under the table listening to us all argue about who hates you more?"

Jon doesn't get any further, because that's when Elias grabs him. He expects pain, a backhand for speaking to his superior in such a way or for Elias to pull him sharply back by his hair. Instead, Elias drags him down to crush his mouth to Jon's with a desperate, pitiful noise.

He's too shocked to do anything about it for a second, letting Elias's tongue push between his lips and plead with him to kiss back. Then there are hands on his hips, coming forward to his front, and Jon breaks himself out of it. 

"Jon —" 

"— Don't touch me," he snaps, fumbling Elias's hands away from his belt buckle.

"You don't understand, I can make you _know_," Elias begs, trying to grab Jon again by his hips. "Let me show you." 

Jon, damn him, falters. He does _want_ to know, just as he wants to know most things.

Elias takes his hesitation as permission either way.

Jon's knees nearly buckle as he hears an echo of himself, asking questions in anger and curiosity and spite, and with every question something _wracks_ him — it's like his whole body pulses toward the suggestion of a voice, wanting to answer it, do what it says, more than anything else. It bubbles like champagne up his neck and over his ears, urging him forward, _under_ the spell of the questions.

"Don’t —" Jon tries to snap, but most of the bite in his voice has been replaced by the same strain of want in Elias's. "I'm leaving." 

Elias starts to argue but Jon doesn't let him. 

"I'm _leaving_," he repeats, and stumbles back a step. The door to Elias's office is open a crack, and he can only hope nobody else heard their exchange. 

The hallway seems to be empty when he steps out, but he still waits until he's safely back in his own office, with the door closed, before he lets out the breath he's been holding.

It's _intoxicating_. He doesn't know how he made it out of Elias's office, because his heart is still pounding like it's trying to break free of his ribs and return to him. That mirroring feedback loop of hearing his own distorted compulsion as Elias hears it, shooting sweet and heavenly right down his spine, and riding that phantom urge to obey unasked questions just to complete the circuit. Is _that_ what he'd been doing to Elias each time? Drowning him with dopamine and adrenaline and butterflies like that?

That can't be what everyone else feels, right? Only Elias, as another limb of the Eye? He's said before that Jon's compulsion would be different since they're both closer to their patron than anyone else he might use it on, but...

His phone buzzes. 

A restricted number has texted him. Big mystery who _that_ might be. 

_Apologies for being so forward. I'd still enjoy showing you if you change your mind._

The next text is an address. 

'Apologies for being forward', _ha_. Elias probably couldn't feel regret if his life depended on it.

(He should just delete the messages, but he hesitates.)

(He tells himself keeping Elias's address could be an advantage, if it comes down to it.)

**Author's Note:**

> supplemental: i'm also sandpapersnowman on tumblr and lyric/ille in the rq discord! hmu!


End file.
